


Vets

by zeldadestry



Category: NBA RPF
Genre: Quadruple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s impossible not to feel something for KG.  Hell, it’s like the guy lives his life determined to get a reaction, not just from Tim, but from everyone, anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vets

It’s impossible not to feel something for KG. Hell, it’s like the guy lives his life determined to get a reaction, not just from Tim, but from everyone, anyone.

He never accepts the season’s really over until he gets the call. Usually, he doesn’t answer, checks his phone later to hear a brief message that’s inevitably a taunt. He knows how to translate, though, recognize the emotion, so that, “Ring number four, huh? Fuck you, Duncan,” communicates fierce envy, regret, and, yeah, congratulations.

This time, he picks up. “Hey.”

“Dude,” KG says, “what’s up? You think I want to talk to you?”

“You called me.”

“Yeah, to remind your punk ass you didn’t make the finals.”

“Neither did you.”

“Got a game closer than you did in the conference finals, and we didn’t even have home court. Shit, look at it like this: we took the Heat to seven when OKC, the team you dropped four straight to, by the way, could only manage five.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, “you win, you got me, good job. You can claim second place for the Celts, if you want it, since we both know no one gives a fuck about the runner up.”

“Sucks, though, seriously, for both of us. I wanted to kick your ass in the finals so bad. Sweet, right? Woulda earned myself another ring and kept you from getting one at the same time.”

“Next year,” Tim says, “next year, you can try your best, but I’m gonna get my fifth.”

“Yeah, if you survive another season, old man.”

Not all the trash KG talks is easy to ignore. They’re both feeling their ages, been feeling worn for years by now. Hundreds and hundreds of games, both of them, over more than a dozen years, closer to forty than to thirty, their careers drawing to an end. Kevin is loud and relentless, manages to distract Tim when no one else can. But he is an amazing player, too, and there is undeniable satisfaction in playing him, facing him, beating him, proving to him that, no matter how much shit he says, Tim is the one who ends up on top. “Next year,” he repeats, “you, me, mano a mano.”

“Bring it,” KG says, “you’re going down,” and hangs up. 

Timmy shakes his head, tosses his phone on the couch, and gets his bag together to head for the gym.


End file.
